Tales of the Wasteland
by TheCurtisclan
Summary: A series of short, couple chapter stories set after Fallout: New Vegas ends in favor of an independent New Vegas. May or may not all come together at some point. Enjoy, friendzoni's!


"Listen, old timer, get the hell away from the door before I shove my plasma rifle so far up your ass you're going to be vomiting up micro fusion cells for the next week!" Taylor threatened through gritted teeth to another drunkard who thought they were allowed access to the Silver Rush without a body search. Her employers, the notorious Van Graffs, insisted when she started her job guarding the door to the Silver Rush that she give a pat down to everyone who wanted to enter, but it seemed like some of the residents of Freeside couldn't comprehend those orders.

Freeside isn't what it used to be ever since Vegas became independent after the battle of Hoover Dam. Life just became uninteresting, _boring_ , since the Securitrons spread to outer Vegas and secured the area from the unruly thugs that used to rule the streets. Not to mention the Kings being all up in the Van Graffs business. A bunch of gelled up weirdos as far as Taylor was concerned.

Taylor aimed her plasma rifle at the drunkard, "I will not repeat myself! Step. The fuck. _Away_." The drunkard made a half-hearted groan, before stumbling back across the street to the Atomic Wrangler, grumbling to himself the whole way.

"Another day, another asshole, huh Taylor?" Simon grunted, as he leant up against the wall on the right side of the Silver Rush's door.

Taylor wiped a strand of blonde hair from her face and over her ear, and smirked. "You of all people should've gotten used to it by now. It's how I operate."

"The last white girl that guarded this place with me ended up giving New Vegas independence, so I tend to expect anything." Simon then made a stern expression. "But you really do need to stop losing your cool. Customers won't come in if you keep scaring people off. And I don't think you want your pay docked anymore."

Taylor sighed, wiping her face tiredly as she did so, and made the shape of a gun with a finger. "One day something interesting will happen here, and I'll end up making it big in Vegas," She pointed her gun at the Atomic Wrangler across the street, then at Simon, "Whether it's through the Van Graffs, or by my own ingenuity, by God I'll make it." She pretended to pull the trigger, made the gesture of a gun being fired, and made a low pop with her mouth.

"Sure, sure," Simon chuckled, "if you say so. Keep your mind to it and you could be the best dick-sucker at the Gomorrah." Taylor flipped her middle finger up at Simon, and lent back up against the wall.

 _The Van Graff's are thugs. Criminals. Why work for them?_ Taylor downed another shot of whiskey, feeling the cold liquid slide down her throat, and coughed slightly. She didn't typically drink whiskey while she drugged up: the two would conflict poorly with each other when she did, but she craved the extra buzz when she could. Using her mouth to wrap up the bandanna around her arm, she picked up the syringe of Med-X and injected it into her arms, wincing slightly at the pain of the needle penetration. She threw the empty syringe to the ground, lying back on her grotty bed while it took effect. She tried focusing on the roof of her apartment, tracing each crack until she felt numb, after which she just enjoyed the high as the quiet sound of ' _Blue Moon'_ played from the Strip.

 _I'm trying to make something of myself. And I hear they take good care of their people. It's better than how we currently live, slinging dope through the Khan's territory, risking our lives like this._ That conversation. It rang in her head constantly whenever she shot up, distracted her clouded mind and ended up bothering her drugged up mind too much. She didn't remember who the memory was about: a boyfriend perhaps? A brother? She had no clue, and quite frankly, didn't give a shit. Kind of.

She let out a sigh, and closed her eyes lazily. What would happen if she overdosed, she wondered? Would anyone at the Van Graffs notice? Would the person from her memories remember her? Taylor rubbed her forehead and sniffed slightly. But she… she smelt something. And then she heard someone shout something. Something along the lines of, 'Burn in hell, you Van Graff Cunt.' Burn in hell? Oh no.

Taylor leapt up from her bed in a panic, and to find herself surrounded in flames. Her eyes sagged from the Med-x she had taken, but her slumbering body was still quick to move, as she weaved her way through the apartment. A thought passed that she should've picked up some things to take with her, but after seeing flames erupt in the kitchen, she decided against it and made a beeline towards the door. With a swift kick, the door swung open on its hinges and she burst out of the room. She jumped the stair railing in front of her, since she barely had any time as it was, and took the stairs two at a time. One down in the lobby, she sprinted for the door, and burst out with all her might.

She took giant gulps of air, as the smoke inside the apartment had filled her lungs, and she gingerly opened her eyes to reveal the lights of New Vegas in the distance. Taylor glanced behind herself, gazing upon the fiery remains of what had been her home for the past five years. The home that held every memory that had remained of her former life. Everything seemed to move in slow motion for the next few seconds, whether from the Med-X or Taylors consciousness was unknown, as she got up onto her knees, and eventually to her feet. That was when she felt a sharp knock to the back of her head, and she fell to the ground again.

"Get her on her knees," a gruff voice commanded to shadows in Taylors peripheral vision, and the shadows obeyed it, pulling Taylor up sharply and setting her roughly on her knees. She grunted on impact, and tried to pull herself from the grip of her attackers unsuccessfully. Another figure appeared in front of her, and gripped her chin to pull her head up to theirs.

"Taylor Frevin, I'm guessing?" the figure asked her, seeming to look into her soul with his Green eyes. Taylor made a grunt, as she still hadn't caught her wind yet, but she could tell the man already knew who she was. "The people you work for, they've made some powerful enemies, you know."

Through breaths, Taylor finally managed to get out, "What… the Van… Graff's?... You got to be… joking?"

The man smiled. "Even in the face of death, you still have time for sarcasm." The man suddenly donned a very serious face. To Taylor, he must've looked around forty, maybe crawling into his fifties, had brown hair with grey patches strewn about it, and wore a simple grey t-shirt and jeans. "A shame really, you seem like such a nice girl. Why'd you get tied up in all this, huh?"

Taylor saw it was a genuine question, and went to answer it, "Eh, you know how it is… crippling drug addictions… and all that…"

"Trust me, I do," the man said, letting go of Taylor's chin and taking a couple of steps back, "Do you know who we are?" Taylor shook her head, finally catching her breath. "Well, I come here on behalf of the Gun Runners, because your employers have made enemies with the wrong people, and now you, the employees, have to deal with it." The man took out his pistol, a stub revolver, and slotted a single bullet into it. "Simon's already taken care of, and once we finish you off, we'll focus on the interior guards, and then eliminate the Van Graff's in the Mojave for good."

"Wait!" Taylor yelled, "Wait, you need me."

The man raised an eyebrow, but kept his pistol steadily trained on Taylor's forehead, "Enlighten me, then."

"I can help you. You're going to need someone on the inside, won't you? I can spy on them, feed you information and eventually take them on with you." Taylor looked pleadingly to the man. "Please don't kill me, I beg of you."

The man shook his head lightly and looked away thoughtfully, but then turned his attention back to his captive. "I'm going to need to speak to the people back at base, but it should be okay. On a few conditions." With a wave of his hand, the people holding Taylor let her go, and she stood up carefully, unsure as to whether this was a trick or not. The man stepped forward and stood beside her, wrapping his arm around her neck.

"First condition: every week on Friday at exactly 4:00, you will come and find me at the Gun Runner headquarters just south of Freeside, and give me information on guard's, weapon shipments, and convoys from that week. Second, if you get any direct orders from the Van Graff siblings yourself, report to me ASAP." He let go of Taylor and stood directly in front of her. "And lastly, for god's sake, clean yourself up. No more Med-X, no more alcohol, no more drug use in general. Do you agree?"

Taylor shook her head vigorously, "Of course, yeah. You've got my full allegiance."

"Good. Great!" The man signalled for his men to follow him, and spun on his heels, but turned back around soon after. "And one more thing: do not, under any circumstances, fuck us over. Because we will slaughter you with the rest of them."

With that, the man and his goons had left. Taylor hadn't even asked his name. _That'll_ be a problem she deals with another day. She sighed, and turned to look at her apartment: Or what was left of it, anyway. Yeah, she sure was going to make it big someday, alright.


End file.
